


Storm Chaser

by lostsometime



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Fantastic Racism, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Spoilers for Episode 19, pre-stream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostsometime/pseuds/lostsometime
Summary: “I always did my best, every town we visited, no matter how they treated me and some of them treated me with… deep disrespect.”Molly has seen Yasha’s wings before.





	Storm Chaser

               The town hadn’t seemed any worse than any other while they were setting up – they got the usual suspicion from the local Crownsguard, the usual head-shaking dismissals from some of the townsfolk, but they also got the usual wide-eyed children watching the tent go up, and the usual line of eager farmhands looking to hear their fortunes told.  The turnout for the opening show was better than he’d expected; the night was chilly and the sky had been threatening rain all day, but the storm held off and by the time Gustav signaled the start of the performance, they’d gathered a very respectably-sized crowd.

               It was only later, as he made his way back towards the circus’ campground from a cheerful local bar, that Molly realized that he’d misjudged.  He was weaving a little as he ducked through the alleys towards the edge of town, but it was mostly for effect – he was much less drunk than he’d let on to the folks he was playing cards with at the tavern.  It was the sort of night that made Yasha antsy, not quite ready to storm but with the definite smell of lightning in the air.  Mostly, the heavy cloud cover just made it harder to see by moonlight but Molly’s eyes were plenty sharp in the dark.  He took the same narrow back roads he’d used during the day, not expecting anyone to be out so late, not expecting that humans might be in so dark and unwelcoming an alleyway.  He didn’t even notice the three men following him until they jumped him.

               Molly was a good fighter, and he knew it. He was quick and agile, and though he didn’t know how he’d learned, he knew how to use a sword effectively.  None of that helped.  He was unarmed, his scimitars left back in the tent after the show like the props they really were, and he’d had just enough to drink that his reflexes were slowed.  Taken by surprise, he wasted another few vital seconds wondering if he could talk his way out and before he knew it one of the men had decked him hard in the face.  He blinked the sudden spots away from his vision, mouth working fast and mind faster.

               “Now, now, gents, let’s not… let’s not be hasty here.  I can give you what you want, what d’you want, you want money? I haven’t got a lot of money but what’s mine is yours, just – just give me a moment –"

               The man who’d hit him didn’t say anything, just stepped forward into his space until Molly felt compelled to step back, his back hitting the wall.  One of the others spit on the ground, and the last finally spoke, saying “We don’t want your money, devil-blood. We want you and your freakshow out of our town.”

               “We’re hard-working, gods-fearing folk here,” said one of the others, “don’t need none of your wickedness touching our families n’ children.”

               “Okay, okay, that’s fine, that’s good-” Molly started, still talking smoothly despite the knot of panic  that was beginning to curl in his throat, “I can do that, I can – we can do that, no trouble, we didn’t mean any harm, I’ll just go right back and tell the others and we can be out of town by morning –" As he spoke, Molly turned so his back was no longer to the wall and started inching backwards, until he felt a hand fall, heavy, on his shoulder, and saw with a start that one of the men had gotten behind him.  Feeling the panic swell, Molly tried to break his hold and run for the mouth of the alley, but was yanked back and shoved, hard, into the man who first had hit him.  Molly wasn’t surprised when he hit him again.

               Another blow sent pain spiking through his head and his vision swam.  He kept trying to fight his way free, just enough to run, but he was no longer drawing on whatever strange training he used with his swords.  His blows were wild, fear-driven and poorly aimed, and his opponent grabbed him by the wrist and dragged him forward to meet his raised knee.  All the breath rushed out of him, his cry of pain reduced to a faint wheeze, and when the man threw him to the ground, he couldn’t catch himself.  Molly hit the ground hard, and another man aimed a kick at his ribs before he could reorient himself. Fear and pain choked his breathing off and he made a small, desperate sound that was lost under the sick crack of his ribs breaking.  He tried to curl up, to defend his softest parts while they kicked him and he hoped – prayed – for it to end soon.  He tried to find the moon, to direct a plea to the Moonweaver, and sobbed as he realized he couldn’t see it at all anymore, didn’t even know where it was.  He was alone, helpless, and something deep inside him whispered, _Empty._

               Then a foot came down on the end of his tail and he screamed.

               One of the men slapped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the sound, and the men looked around for a moment, wondering if they’d been heard.  Thunder crashed in the distance, and they exchanged a glance – maybe the sound of the thunder had covered the scream.  Pain shot up Molly’s spine like lightning and he whimpered.

               Still looking around furtively, the man covering Molly’s mouth pulled his hand away, muttering “We should get out of here.”  Before he could register the end of the assault, another of the men grabbed one of Molly’s horns and dragged him to his knees.  Panting, Molly closed his eyes as the man yanked his head back and held the cool edge of a knife to his throat.

               “I thought we were gonna have him take a message back to his freak friends.”

               “They’ll get the message clear enough when they see what’s left of ‘im.”

               “I guess, but I thought—“

               Molly never found out what the man thought, because the end of his sentence was swallowed up in a booming crack of thunder, and then all three men stopped paying any attention to Molly at all.  Their gazes were riveted at the figure at the entrance of the alleyway, and though his eyes wouldn’t quite focus, Molly recognized Yasha with such relief he nearly cried. 

               Yasha stepped forward into the alley, another bolt of lightning briefly illuminating her face, and the man with the knife let go of Molly’s horn and took an instinctive step back.  Her eyes were pitch black.  Her hand went to the hilt of the sword on her back, and all three men moved back another step.

               “I’m going to walk over to my friend,” she said, and her voice wasn’t loud but it carried clearly over the thunder.  “You _really_ don’t want to still be here when I do.”  Another flash of lightning and Molly saw _something_ – wings?! – silhouetted around Yasha’s form.  Shadows, darker than the rest of the night, began to drift off of them.  All three men turned and ran, scrambling, down the alley and away, fear in their eyes as they turned back to look, just once, before vanishing into the night.

               As soon as they were gone, Yasha hurried over to Molly.  She was like a completely different person – the shadowy wings and black eyes had vanished like a dream, and the vicious, barely-contained fury in her face melted away to soft concern.   She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and went to help him sit up.

               “Molly? Are you – will you be all right?”

               Molly tried for his usual rakish grin, but was only able to offer a weak half-smile.  “I will be, my dear.  Thanks to you.”

               “Can I…?” She trailed off, not sure how to offer what she didn’t know how to describe.  “Let me help."  Her hand on his shoulder felt faintly warm, and as she placed her other hand on his crushed tail, he saw that it was glowing faintly as well.  He felt a little better – not much, but enough to be able to pull up a real smile for her this time.

               “You are a woman of many talents, it seems.”

               “Oh, I don’t – I can’t…”

               “You don’t need to explain anything to me, Yasha. Just – thank you.  Can you help me up?”  She did so, slinging one of his arms around her shoulders and wrapping her own around his waist, taking most of his weight as they began to walk.  The rain finally caught up to the thunder as they went, and Molly blinked as he felt Yasha pull him closer as if to shield him from it.

               “This is an awful place,” she murmured.

               “We’ll be well rid of it, honestly.  This time tomorrow it’ll be a speck on the horizon.” 

               As they made it to the edge of the circus’ campsite, Yasha began to look around for someone who could take word to Gustav to get the carts packed up, and gently eased Molly down to sit by  the fire.  “Wait here, I’ll go beg a potion off Ornna.”  She pulled off her shrug and wrapped it around Molly’s shoulders, somewhat tattered but warm.  Molly caught her hand before she pulled away, just for a moment.

               “Yasha? How did you know where to find me? How did you know I was in trouble?”

               Yasha’s cheek twitched, almost, _almost_ a smile.

               “I guess I just had a feeling.”  In the distance, the storm rumbled once more.


End file.
